Ah, the rush of adrenalin that hits an author full force when they realize it’s pub day. Clothes are thrown from closets as if the author is actually going out to meet real people, when in reality she’s just taking the dog for its daily walk. The author hurries back to her home, carrying multiple bright green bags of poo, eager to check social media stats.
Pub day is the shortened term used for publishing day: the day when a book is released (chiseled) from the author’s clenched fingers and handed over to their audience (ten readers) via an awesome publicity team. Press packages are sent out to potential reviewers, along with the newest attribute to the book-publishing world: the book trailer
Yes, the story that the writer has sweated over for months, years, and even decades (feels like f*!king centuries) has finally birthed. We writers open our hands and let our babies fly across the expanse of social media, to bookshelves across the world (the local library), onto tablets, and into reader’s hands.
Maybe, if the author’s lucky, she’s managed to get a few hours sleep the night before pub day (not a chance in hell). And when she did, her dreams (nightmares) were full of images of uncrossed t’s and dotless i’s, of overused adjectives, and words left naked on the page aimlessly wandering around without speech tags to fence them in (actually, they’re desperate to get off the f*!*ing page).
Yes, the lead up to pub day is when authors lose the ability to focus their eyes on just about anything (normal for her). Why, it was just yesterday when my husband wandered into my office and pointed out a pony being led up the street by a family of three humans. This equine event was happening about fifty (thirty) feet from my desk, separated by a window, but alas, although I heard the clip-clop of stubby Shetland pony feet (neighbor’s quarter horse) fading in the distance, hubby’s excitement was lost on me. I could barely focus on anything more than eighteen (three) inches away from my face (trust me, she’s totally lost it—almost nuttier than the #wankerinchief).
Pub day itself is rather a non-event (really?). The frequent trips to the bathroom have ceased (she wishes), the steady stream of coffee reverts back to the normal two (five) cups a day, the chocolate covered almond intake has decreased considerably (absolute BS), and the self-criticism crawls back into the dark passage of the writer’s subconscious mind (not bloody likely) and plans its next attack (as soon as you’ve finished writing this piece of shit blog post!).
Yes, it’s time to let go, to move on to the next story (eye roll). Characters are ramping up their tireless (long-winded) chatter, and myriad research books stacked on bookcases are jumping out (falling over) and demanding to be read. Legal pads and blue and red gel pens are poised and ready (not a drop of ink in either), each with a purpose (to draw doodles)...a scene to outline.
Yes, pub day is over and another book has been set free (it couldn’t get away fast enough), another story told and the author’s bed is calling (that’s her laptop cheering as she closes the lid).